Deep as the Dead

by Kylie Brant

  She glanced back at him.

  A smile was lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Your room is directly across the hall.”

  “Oh.” Thoughts scattered, all she could do was stare at him. He’d once worn smiles more easily, she recalled dimly. He’d used them to tease her out of her seriousness. They’d been a beacon in her otherwise dark existence—until they’d extinguished completely when their shared grief threatened to swallow them whole.

  The memory carved a hollow in her stomach. She turned and made her way toward her room, wishing she didn’t feel as though she was running away from something.

  Again.

  “She left in a hurry.”

  Nyle’s observation had Ethan turning away from the closed door he was still staring at. “Her mind gets two steps ahead when she has hold of an idea.” He headed for the seat at the desk she’d vacated. He had phone calls to make to the team he’d left in New Brunswick so he could catch up on the results of the investigation they’d left behind. He still had to update his superior on the team, Captain Campbell at RCMP headquarters tonight and set priorities for the daily briefing that would take place with the task force members tomorrow morning. “It can make her seem absent-minded, but she’s crazy smart.”

  “I’d say that’s a masterful understatement. I researched her after I called home last night. Figured you’d have done the same after Campbell contacted you with the news she’d be joining us.”

  Ethan’s shoulders tightened at Nyle’s words. When he’d gotten word from the brass yesterday, researching the expert consultant had been the last thing on his mind. Dealing with the news that there’d be neither more resources nor more personnel for the case, he’d spent hours after he and Nyle had parted drawing up priorities for the investigation and juggling them between the task force team members and local police.

  Would it have helped if he’d checked out Dr. Hayden last night? He dug in his pocket for his cell. Maybe he’d have been better prepared for the shock of seeing her today. His gut clenched. But maybe not. There was really no way to adequately prepare for coming face to face with the biggest regret of his life.

  “She’s got double PhDs and board certifications in entomology and forensic psychology, you know that? That’s amazing at her age. She’s got to be brilliant. But you knew her, you said. You’d know all about that.” Ethan felt Nyle’s gaze on him as he read through the responses to his earlier text messages. “Were you guys in school together?”

  “She was homeschooled.” He’d realized too late that his knowledge of Alexa’s life before their brief marriage was sketchy. Their chemistry had been too sudden, too overwhelming to allow room for much else. But he’d come to understand that she’d glossed over the areas of her life where the shadows dwelled. He’d had a lot of years to wonder what sort of damage that darkness had inflicted.

  Seeing Nyle’s expectant expression, he realized it was time to end this conversation. “I’ve got to check in with McManus.” He’d left the other man as point in New Brunswick. “Anything come through on the lab tests today?”

  “Tox screen on both New Brunswick victims. Scopolamine, just like we figured.”

  Ethan nodded, unsurprised. Five years ago, they’d wasted a lot of man-hours chasing leads on where the killer was getting the drug. They’d come up with nothing. Scopolamine wasn’t a controlled substance. There were too many illicit avenues available on the street and the dark web to track anyone bent on buying the drug. They’d met with a similar failure following up on the source of the thread used for the mouths. It was mass-produced and widely available, although they had determined the same type was used in each crime. So far, the killer had been smart and lucky. But Ethan was going to do his damnedest to make sure the man’s good fortune ran out sooner, rather than later. And he wasn’t going to let anything divert him from that end. Not even the woman he’d once promised to honor and cherish for the rest of their lives.

  Especially not her.

  A hammering on the door jolted Alexa from the report she was typing on her laptop. Frowning, she got up and crossed the room. As she was about to unsecure the safety chain, however, a sliver of caution chased away the remnants of the work fog engulfing her. She checked the peephole in the door first. A micro-sized Ethan Manning filled it.

  She took a moment to haul in a breath. If she’d indulged in a fantasy that she could consult on this case without ever having a single conversation with Ethan, alone, that fantasy was about to be shattered. Alexa unlatched the chain and pulled open the door. She made a point of looking at Ethan’s hands. “Where’d you hide the battering ram?”

  “Funny.” He brushed by her as he entered the room, leaving her to shut the door behind him. “I saw the light under your door. I’ve been knocking for five minutes. Was starting to think you were unconscious.”

  “As you can see, I’m…” she began. And then stopped when he turned. Stared at her. “What?”

  After a long moment, he cleared his throat. Looked away. “Your glasses. You must have been working.”

  Her brows raised. He was acting as strangely as she’d ever seen him. “Yes. I like to put my thoughts down in writing, because I’m—”

  “Hopelessly visual,” he finished. One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah. I remember.”

  Her heart kicked faster as his expression lightened briefly. The tilt of his lips barely qualified as a smile; there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it. So, there was no reason—none at all—for the unsteadiness of her pulse.

  “I’ve identified the insects left with the last two victims.” Work. She seized on the distraction with a sense of relief. She crossed to the desk where she’d been sitting when he’d interrupted her and scrolled to the beginning of her notes on the computer screen. “Your unidentified New Brunswick victim had a Melanophila Acuminata in the glassine bag. Common name is fire bug or black fire beetle.”

  “Is it exotic, too?” He remained where he was just inside the door, as if rooted in place.

  “Not really. It’s indigenous to North America, Cuba, Europe and Asia.”

  Frustration flickered in his expression. “It doesn’t sound like we’re going to get a lead from the insect samples. At least not one that we can trace.”

  “Well, perhaps not directly,” she admitted, slipping her reading glasses from her nose and folding them neatly. “As you said earlier, you’d exhausted the dragonflies as a lead years ago. And if none of the secondary samples were live samples, he could have gotten them from any number of collectors, or, more likely on the Internet. It’d be the most anonymous way to attain them.” She saw the agreement on his face. A face that was leaner than she recalled. Harder. His hair was cropped short, darker now without the sun-streaked strands it used to have. The color was more of a contrast to his icy blue eyes. Ethan had been lithe and rangy as a teen, with an athletic build that had served him well in his obsession with sports. He’d grown into his wide shoulders, filling out in a way that hinted at hard muscle below the muted dark gray suit he still wore.

  “What else?”

  She blinked once and attempted to lasso her wayward thoughts. “Ah…the second victim was left with Acanthaspis petax, a member of the Reduviidae family. It’s a type of assassin bug, and found in Africa and Malaysia.”

  He stared at her. “I figured you’d go into science someday. But the bug thing…still having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

  Questions about her profession were far safer than the emotional quicksand of their past. Alexa seized on the topic gratefully. “I was in biology as an undergrad at Georgetown. One summer I got an internship at the body farm in Knoxville. I worked with the entomology team.” She gave a small shrug. “I was hooked.” Before then she’d always imagined herself working in a lab setting when she finished school. Perhaps teaching eventually. But her first introduction to forensics dictated a natural career course that eventually paired science and criminology.

  “I’ve been wo
rking on something else.” She turned to her laptop and pressed the print command. A moment later, the portable printer next to the computer began to buzz then spit out paper. “I believe the samples left with the victims tell us something about why they were selected. Insect behavior can be as fascinating as that of humans.” Alexa’s lips curved at his expression of distaste. “And insects predate people, so that says something about their ability to adapt and evolve. Take the African bat bug that was left with Simard. It’s one of the insect families that practices traumatic insemination.”

  He looked warily intrigued. “Sounds painful.”

  “And often deadly. The female has a sexual tract, but it’s rarely used. The male stabs the female through the abdomen with his needle-like genitalia, causing a wound that can cause infection and death.” She tried to temper the enthusiasm in her voice. Not everyone was as fascinated as she was about her work. “Males will also mate with other males in the same way. Females adapted by developing a set of external grooves that guides the males to their genitalia. Males evolved similarly, except the grooves lead to the least critical area of their body, where they are most likely to survive a wound.”

  He remained silent for a moment. Then, “You’re a bit scary.”

  Alexa grinned, and gathered the pages of her report, dug in the computer case for a paper clip and fastened them together before crossing the room to hand them to him. “The thing that clicked for me was Simard’s criminal sheet. You said he filmed pornographic movies. Was suspected of making snuff films. Maybe we want to tug on that string a bit more. Violent sex that ends in death…the offender may have targeted him because of his pastimes.”

  He propped a shoulder against the door, began flipping through the papers in his hand. “Now would be as good a time as any to tell you I don’t deal well with maybes.”

  “In science, we call it a hypothesis. Our investigation will prove or disprove it.” Seeing the objection on his face, she hurried on. “I can take over that end of things.”

  Ethan looked unconvinced. “What about the other samples we found?”

  “The unidentified victim in New Brunswick was the one left with the black fire beetle. They mate inside smoldering trees, like in forest fires.” She paused a beat. “His hands were badly burned. The link between the type of torture he underwent and the secondary insect is unmistakable.” She saw by the arrested expression on Ethan’s face that he’d grasped the significance.

  “So according to your idea that the victims are selected according to their pasts, our John Doe is what…an arsonist?”

  Alexa lifted a shoulder. “Something to do with fire, possibly. Fireman. Arson investigator. Or maybe he was in the insurance field. But our unknown subject believes that the unidentified man, like the other victims, is deserving of his death. I think that’s what the second insect and the torture tells us. It’s part of the victimology.”

  “What about the second New Brunswick victim?” Ethan asked, folding his arms across his chest. Despite his pose, he didn’t seem to be rejecting her theory outright. “Albert Norton.”

  A wave of exhaustion hit her then and she backed up a few steps to sit on the side of the bed. She snuck a look at the clock on the bedside table. She’d only slept about four hours last night. Fatigue hadn’t been a problem while she was working, but now she could feel a crash coming on.

  She nodded toward the report he still held. “The insect sample taken from his mouth was an Arilus cristatus, or wheel bug, of the Reduviidae or assassin bug family.”

  His gaze snapped to hers. “Assassin bug?”

  “They’re carnivorous predators. Great for the gardens because they feed on common pests that harm plants. Norton had the number twenty-eight carved into his back. Does he have a record?”

  “Nothing that stuck, but he’s been hauled in twice in the last decade for questioning in homicide investigations.”

  A thrill of adrenaline zipped up her spine. “That bears more looking into.”

  “No shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Stopped mid-action to look at her. “Of the three insect samples left with the victims, only one isn’t common to this area. The one left with Simard. I’m guessing you think that’s important.”

  “I do. He could have chosen a bat bug—or a bedbug for that matter—that’s found locally. Like the torture, the selection of a more exotic insect singles Simard out. Something about the man was especially noteworthy to the offender. Or the UNSUB feels Simard is particularly heinous in some way.” Pressing a hand against her mouth for a moment to stifle a yawn, Alexa said sheepishly, “Sorry. The long day is catching up with me.”

  “Then you’d better call it a night. I just stopped in to tell you that we have a briefing with Captain Campbell and the other members of the task force at seven-thirty. I hope that’s not too early for you.” It was plain from his tone that the statement was a formality.

  “Of course not.”

  Ethan looked unconvinced. “You realize I’m talking a.m.”

  Her lips curved and she got up to cross to the desk, laying her reading glasses on it. “Believe it or not, I’ve come to terms with my violent dislike of mornings. We’ve learned to co-exist.”

  “Be packed, because we’ll check out tomorrow. After the briefing, we’ll be heading to Halifax to the divisional RCMP headquarters. Now that we’re finishing up with the Simard crime scene, it will be simpler to set up there with their resources closer to hand. The transportation manifests have come in and are waiting for us. I don’t have to tell you, that’s going to be a tedious task.”

  She winced a little. Just the prospect of poring over reams of passenger lists from airlines, cruises, trains, buses, and the ferry looking for Simard’s name was more than a little daunting. “All right. Can we swing by the body dumpsite before we leave?” It wasn’t often that she was called to a case in time to see a crime scene first hand. Usually she had to rely on photos to familiarize herself with the site.

  Alexa half-expected him to refuse. She wouldn’t have insisted. It wasn’t crucial for her to visit the location in person. But since the secondary sites didn’t appear to be totally random, each would tell them something about the killer. And the ability to walk the ground the offender had, see what he’d seen, would be a rare opportunity for her prior to writing a profile.

  But he surprised her by saying, “Forensic ident unit is finished with it, not that the rain left much for them to find. They also searched across the river for a few miles in case a boat was used, with similar results. Wouldn’t hurt to take another look at the embankment. In five or six of the scenes, we did find indentations in the ground that lead us to believe he uses some sort of two-wheeled dolly to cart the body to the dumpsite. Figure the rain took care of any tracks, but wouldn’t hurt to check again before I release the site. So, request granted.”

  She smiled. “I’m ridiculously pleased by the prospect. Especially since it puts off the manifest chore a little longer.”

  He didn’t return her smile. Just continued to gaze at her, long enough to have her shifting uncomfortably, her palms dampening. Awareness sprang to life, thrumming with a familiar electric spark. It’d always been like this between them, even when she was too young, too naïve to put a name to it. That chemistry should have expired, buried by a mountain of regret, shared anguish and pain. It shouldn’t be spitting and sparking to life anew.

  “Why?” The word seemed wrenched from him, his tone so low she had to strain to hear. Nevertheless, it reverberated through her like a plucked harpsichord string. Why what? He wasn’t referring to her request, of that Alexa was certain. Why did she come? Or—more terrifying—was he referring to why she’d left?

  Cowardly, she seized on the former. “I didn’t realize who I’d be working with on the case when I first agreed to the job.” But Raiker had known. The man made it his business to know everything about his employees, and their potential vulnerabilities. When he’d revealed Ethan’s involvement as senior investigato
r, it had been all she could do to avoid flinching beneath Raiker’s laser blue stare. But the man had sensed her immediate reaction. There was no hiding that sort of thing from the man who’d once been FBI’s most respected profiler. She’d had to convince him, as well as herself, that her past wouldn’t trip her up on this case.

  Her first glimpse of Ethan had shaken that conviction to its core.

  He still hadn’t moved. “It was a long time ago.” The words were meant as much for her as for him. “I told Raiker that I had no doubt the two of us could have a productive working relationship.” If anything, his gaze went chillier at her words.

  “You’re right.” His expression had shuttered. He turned to open the door and headed through it. “It was a long time ago.”

  Alexa lay still, staring up at the ceiling of the motel room. Despite her exhaustion, sleep was elusive, evaporating each time it ebbed just within reach. And she knew exactly who she had to thank for that.

  She closed her eyes to keep her gaze from searching the alarm clock on the bedside table. It didn’t help to watch as the minutes awake slid into hours, and Alexa tried not to waste energy on fruitless behavior.

  Behavior like dwelling on the past. It was rearing its head again, grasping at her with gnarled fingers. Experience had taught her there was no good to be had reliving it. But her usual defenses were in shambles at the moment.

  Memories drifted into her mind like smoke under a door. She couldn’t completely blame them on the conversation with Ethan. It was this place. Coming back to the province where she’d spent the unhappiest years of her life affected her more than she’d thought it would, despite her assertions otherwise to Raiker. Her boss had known better than she that her return would be fraught with emotional entanglements. Understanding his employees better than they knew themselves was one of his least beloved traits.

  There was a small click each time the alarm clock flipped from one minute to the next. The sound was hypnotic. For some reason, it reminded her of the two books that made up her childhood. Before her mother had met Thomas Reisman. Click. Then after.